A Matter of Fractions
by Ruthless
Summary: Giles is told by a military official that Ethan is dead. His own reaction is not what he wold have expected. One-shot.


**A.N Well, folks. It's another Giles/Ethan one-shot. This one, however, is a little different to my others (Then again, aren't they all?). Anyway, read, review, and enjoy. Please -**_**Really.**_** I mean it…**

**Disclaimer: If I owned anything to do with Buffy, then do you honestly think I would have let Giles punch Ethan when he said "What? No Hug?" in 'Halloween"?**

**A Matter of Fractions**

Giles wasn't prepared for the way it would feel, as though his heart had been torn out, when the Military official came by the library with a handful of papers concerning the untimely and unfortunate forced termination of Subject #18.43-EDR.

EDR

Ethan Dalmon Rayne

A handful of papers -In the end that was all that it came down to.

A single brown, manila folder, roughly five millimeters thick -The break-down of a entire life, one that had once meant the world to him.

A life, that he'd though he had been past caring about.

And, now that it was over, he wasn't sure whom he had been trying to fool, whether it had been him-self or those that he was meant to kowtow to. He doubted, at the moment, that he'd done a particularly good job of it.

His significant silence could have given him away when the young man wearing the uniform entered the library. And if that hadn't, then surely the expression on his face, and the short gasp that he hadn't been able to hold back, once he'd read past the title page, would have been more then enough to do so.

He stood, his eyes closed, unwilling to look the man in the face. Unwilling to face what he had once imagined would have been a dream come true. Trying to will this situation, which felt too much like a nightmare, away.

For the longest time, he'd been telling him-self that he hadn't heard from Ethan because the other had made a clean get-away as soon as they were out of the Sunnydale boundary, and he'd decided to cool his heels before coming back. After all, at the accumulation of the first night he'd spent with Ethan in over a decade, he'd woken up the next morning with horns and a tail.

Which, he knew for a fact the other would have said was his own fault, for telling him to go back to the motel after they'd finished.

He'd seen the flash of pain in the other's eyes, but seconds later the other man had been laughing at his parting words, and Giles had been able to tell him-self that he'd imagined it. That there was no way something like that could have hurt him so. That Ethan had understood, just as well as he, that what had happened was nothing more then a moment of temporary insanity on both of their parts.

After all, they had both agreed that it was for the best once they'd parted ways for the first time.

As the bell rang, and the young solder retreated, Giles found him-self fighting with the urge to grab him by the neck and shake him. To throw him against the wall, and to the floor, and smash him until all of those beautiful white teeth are on the floor in front of him. Until he admits that it is nothing more then a cruel joke.

It defies logic. It can't be true, because Ethan always comes back, eventually. To mock his ideals, and challenge his beliefs, and insult his methods, true, but it's a challenge that he is far better off with, then without. It keeps them both fresh, and virulent, and at the top of their game.

He'd never imagined that he'd set a challenge that Ethan wouldn't have been capable of overcoming.

_From the shadows that are always noticed, but never explored, he watches the Watcher._

_In the shadow, he waits, as patient as he's ever been able to be throughout his long life._

_Moving to the shadows edge, as close as he dares to come, he follows._

The last thing that Giles wants to have to do is deal with the slayer and her friends this afternoon. He just doesn't have the patients, or energy for it, but he doesn't have that much of a choice. Buffy has an ingrained pattern these days.

Once she's finished with her classes for the day, she always comes to see him, where he's set up his new personal library, just across from the Collage.

And so, he writes a note, leaving it where she is sure to notice it, and walks out, heading back to his happy Hellmouth home.

What a joke that is. It's never been happy, and nor has he -Not really, not like he used to be in the old days, back in London, when he'd been helping to raise every hell imaginable.

_Not quite in the darkness, but always in the gray areas, at the very least. _

_Afraid to come out, because here, in the chill caused by the crossing of darkness and light, he is comfortable -Protected -Safe._

He spends the next three days on his own, hiding away from the world. No-one comes, because he doesn't allow anyone other then him-self to know his pain, and guilt, and anger, and sorrow, and right back around, coming full cycle, to pain all over again.

It is on the forth morning that he wakes up, with a clear head, and the knowledge of what he's to have to do, if he ever wants to be free of this pain.

_Nothing to see, nothing to hear. Nothing here, not even to see._

_It's cute -Too cute for his taste._

_But when there's no one and nothing here to see then it doesn't matter if he's him-self or not. He can be whomever he wants, because he's not allowing him-self to be defined by the expectation of someone that's not there. _

_No matter how much he may want that definition –The one thing that could offer tangible proof of his existence._

He heads out, and into town. To the Sunnydale main street motel -Still trying to tell him-self that all he wants, is a change of perspective. Still not fooling him-self, but it doesn't matter. Because at least this time there isn't anyone else to fool, because he has not allowed anyone else into this part of his life.

Standing at the edge of the motel roof, it takes no fresh conviction.

He was the end of his oldest and dearest friend, and over something that he would have found highly amusing him-self, in his youth.

His youth feels as though it is a world away now. As though it is a distant reality, an entirely separate plain of existence.

Buffy is standing on the corner of the street. Too far away, he notes with a sense of relief.

All is calm, all is dead quiet, as he takes a step forward, and starts to fall.

The Powers That Be can not let one of the best of their fighters' go, without an attempt to restore his desire to live.

No matter what that means having to do.

_Light. A sudden flair, so bright that it's almost blinding._

_None of the pain that had been expected, that he'd been braced for._

_A definition, so sharp, and fresh, and clear, that it alone is almost enough to draw blood._

_Solidity –Form –Attachment –Things that were taken for granted, never missed until they were actually gone, and out of reach._

And there, right there, come out of nowhere, standing right below even though he can't see, because his eyes are closed against the rush of the wind, is Ethan.

Ethan Rayne

Best friend, and worst enemy -A fighter, his lover, a powerful sorcerer, breaker of hearts, and winner of souls.

A charmer, and as savage as a wildcat, with a look that can not be mistaken for anything other then concern, as he glances upwards.

_Power, focused. Teleportation, always his weak point, and not sure if there is enough time to do what he has to do, with the velocity of the falling body._

_Velocity equals distance over time –its all a matter of fractions. And if he's out by any more then a fraction, him-self, then it's two lives that will be over._

Flash of light below him, again something that remains unseen.

He doesn't need to see, to feel the strong arms that wrap around his shoulders, however.

Or in order to experience to feeling of displacement that teleportation brings with it.

He can't help but open his eyes, however, when his legs hit the concrete and buckle, with far less force than what he'd originally counted upon.

_Impossible, to negate all of the speed. Far better, far less risky, to re-materialize a couple of inches above the ground. _

_It beat having a foot re-appear half-buried in the concrete._

_Seen it happen before –Not pretty at all. _

_The reason that Thomas always walked with a limp._

A voice, one that he'd never thought to hear again, speaking right next to his ear. Far too solid to be a phantom, or spirit, which, by definition, is incorporeal, unsubstantial, and untouchable.

"Ripper, you damned fool. Would have thought you'd be glad to be rid of me. The Gods know you were acting as though you'd wanted nothing more to do with me."

Ripper –still, and always, to him at least.

It's pointless to talk to an illusion, or a dream, as this must surely be, he's now decided. A dream, come to comfort him, as the last of his lifeblood slips away, running out onto the pavement, and into the gutters.

Pointless, totally pointless, but still…

"What, I'm never allowed to be wrong?"

Closing his eyes again, and leaning back, against that firm chest behind him, into that touch, so warm, and so familial.

"I thought I'd be finding my way to hell, but you're here…"

"Rupert, turn around, and look at me."

He's reluctant to move away, sure, now, that if he does it will be the end of him. But those thin hands, always stronger then they'd looked, are grasping him by the shoulders, and making him comply.

And it's Ethan's face that he's looking into. There are a few more lines, and a few more gray hairs. Brown eyes, which echo with a hint of pain that'll never be entirely gone, not even after years spent in this new-old life –so much the same. It's undeniable, that it's him.

One of those hands, moving up, to touch his cheek.

"You're not dead, Rupert. And I'm not, either. Was before, but not any more, thanks to you -You and your white-hat do-gooder, destiny-guiding Greater Power. Never thought _I'd_ be in debt to the good guys."

This can't be real, but it is.

This is a fact that is confirmed, when a hand grabs the back of Ethan's neck, and spins him, pushing him up against the wall.

The slayer -They'd both forgotten about her. Not good for the health, that.

"Ethan. What are you doing here, _this time_? Selling cursed hats, or jinxed false teeth?"

Giles puts a hand on her shoulder, and pulls her gently, but firmly away.

Ethan steps away from the wall, massaging at his neck.

"Buffy. Please, leave him be."

One thing is for sure. Life, on the Boca del Inferno is certain to get even more interesting from now on.


End file.
